The Program of Australia
by Owlssellingencyclopedias
Summary: A new fanfic from a new writer, currently in the eleventh grade. Based off real people and set in real places. REVIEWS WOULD BE MUCH APPRECIATED!
1. Prologue

Hi there. I am an Australian high school student currently in Year 10 (or tenth grade) (AM ACTUALLY ON HOLIDAYS AT THE MOMENT (MORE WRITING DONE!), GOING INTO YEAR 11). After being introduced to Battle Royale by inadvertently getting an American Dad reference explained to me, I quickly fell in love with it. I am especially a fan of the Special Edition, and I have the novel. Pretty soon I will be getting the manga. That is, when I get a real job.

I thought to myself in December, how amazing would it be to have a Battle Royale with the people of my grade? Pretty amazing! So I printed up a list of 44 names and weapons, put them in a bowl and chose each character and each weapon one by one, just like in the movie.

As I currently go to school with my classmates, I have pretty much unlimited access to them every day of the school week. Writing using their personalities is great fun.

Please note: a lot of my story and my character's back stories are made-up, created only for dramatic purposes. And also, in no way is any of this an attack on any of my classmates, it's just how I'd reckon they would handle the Program.

So please, enjoy; **read, rate and comment!!**

* * *

In the central business district of Sydney, a motorcade of black sports utility vehicles rolled at a slow pace along the cleared street. The entire city's attention was on this motorcade of SUVs with dark-tinted windows and army soldiers riding on the edge. Sydneysiders were familiar with these types of events. The otherwise traffic-free route was packed with reporters, cameramen and boom operators, all being held back at least 6 metres from the motorcade by an industrial fence and numerous security guards trying to block various angle shots from the cameramen.

One of the 5 cars in the motorcade held the journalists' target. The target was a person who had undergone a life-changing experience. He or she had seen the murder of the person's friends, the betrayal of the person's friends, and the same two acts committed by a select few of the person's "friends". You might think the mystery person may have just returned from a bloody battlefield. But the person had actually returned from a remote area in south-eastern New South Wales.

You might also think that subject of the media's interest was a man in his twenties who is going to be proclaimed as a hero. That is all incorrect.

The motorcade drove along the noisy cobblestone street to a hotel in The Rocks. The whole event looked like a pre-awards show red carpet ceremony, minus the red carpet and dazzling celebrities. But there were still plenty of hounding reporters, attempting to get a glimpse of the subject, whose identity was kept secret up until now. One of the SUVs pulled up in the driveway of the hotel.

The vehicle containing the subject stopped and the three army officers hopped off the edge step. A tall soldier opened the vehicle's back door and the two others stood and waited for the subject to emerge, as did the journalists.

At the top of the hotel's front steps stood two adults, crying in a way that couldn't be deciphered as happiness, shock, or disbelief. These two people, a man and a lady were presumed to be relatives of the subject, as they were wearing casual clothes.

The subject emerged from the SUV. The subject wasn't an almighty hero who had saved numerous people from an enemy army ambush overseas. The person was just a 16-year old boy, wearing red shorts and a white polo with a crest stitched into it. It was a school uniform. The white polo had numerous red stains on it, so the uniform could have been perceived as all red with blobs of white on it.

As soon as the boy stepped into the daylight and camera flashes, the reporters started yelling, "The winner, it's a boy! The winner is sixteen-year old Daniel Steele, who survived the carnage of this year's game, which lasted 2 days, 18 hours and 29 minutes. The winner is Daniel Steele, a real dark horse!"

Steele was escorted by the soldiers, who were trying to keep his identity secret, to his crying parents. The Steele family, which consisted of Daniel, his mother and his father, walked inside the hotel while the reporters screamed, "The winner, it's a boy! It's a boy!"


	2. Excursion

12/11/08 12:10 pm

In the car park outside the front entrance of Electro House Museum, a long school coach full of 15 and 16 year old children started its engine. The coach belonged to Blue Headland Coaches, of Glen Harbour, NSW. It was exactly three hours before the school day at St. Helier Anglican College officially ended, and about three hours travel time between the central business district of Sydney and St. Helier Anglican College (commonly abbreviated as SHAC, pronounced 'shack'), so the schoolchildren of the Year 10 class of 2008 would arrive back at their school, as it were an ordinary school day, where and they would either walk, bike, catch a bus or get picked up by their parents. Anyway, they would all end up home.

Today was no ordinary day.

The children had spent the day at the Electro House Museum as part of their History curriculum. Year 10 had traveled especially to Sydney to the power station-turned-museum to visit an exhibit on technological change in Australia in the 1950s. They were required to answer questions which would be used to write an in-class essay. Most of the class didn't want to, however, as the end of the school year was about a month away, and they had more important things to think about, such as the upcoming formal that was in two days time. Also, because education was only compulsory up until Year 10, some of the students were going to SHAC to do other things, such as pursue their careers or simply go to another high school.

The class consisted of 44 students: 22 males and 22 females. The attending teachers were Mr. John Lucas and Ms. Melinda Kane. They sat up the front of the bus.

John Lucas was the jolly Scottish humanities teacher, known around the school for his robotic phrase of "Tuck your shirt in". Despite his obsession with keeping SHAC's uniform spic-and-span, the students liked him for his anecdotes and teaching style. Melinda Kane was a History teacher, easily recognizable for her high-pitched, kind-of-screechy voice and her incredibly bubbly demeanor. She always seemed to be bouncing around, in and out of school.

The forty-four students weren't making much noise, as a pirated version of Wall-E was playing, and it was nearing its climax. It had resumed for the students after hours of information-finding within the museum. The people that weren't watching were involved in other activities. Hunter Hills and his girlfriend Phoebe Corland were too involved in staring at each other passionately, while giggling as if they had taken a sedative. A sedative and an aphrodisiac.

Behind them, Robert Danovaro, Gregg Weaver, Jeffrey Simpson , Rebecca Hewitt, Wyatt Barron and Paige Gilmore sat in a rectangle snickering at the sight of Phoebe and Hunter looking like they were stoned. They were the athletic group. They all excelled in their particular sport. Robert and Wyatt played tennis, Gregg and Rebecca played basketball, Phoebe played softball, Hunter and Jeffrey played rugby league and Paige was the star of the swimming team.

Behind the sporty group sat the Greene twins, Stephanie and Alyssa. The two identical twins were chatty and chirpy, and goal attack and goal defence respectively on their local netball team.

A large group of friends that were the "weird" group, sat in the middle of the bus. This group included Ben Lewton, Cole Holland, Rick Elliot, Max Roth, Sarah Stevenson and Hannah Parkes. They sat in a rectangle along the left side of the bus talking loudly about random topics.

Three girls: Wendy Olsen, Hayley Hernandez and Heidi Chester were chatting with Mr. Lucas. They were the cool and in-control students, well liked by nearly everyone. They were all straight-A students, Wendy frequently receiving the valedictorian award at the end-of-year assembly.

The group that many would classify as bogans, which included Connor Felton, Joshua Quintrell, Matthew Berwick, Zach Enright and Henry St. Claire, were making a lot of noise and directly annoying a lot of people. They sat up at the back of the bus. Zach was an intelligent person, and many people saw him as too smart and too nice to associate with the delinquent group known as the Bogans. And Connor was a fairly friendly person, and his personality didn't match the rest of the group. Not the most intelligent guy, but amiable enough to get by. In fact, Connor, though he didn't realise it, was always subtly bullied by his so-called friends and while Zach usually stopped the laughing and pointing, it wouldn't be possible when he wasn't there.

Just in front of this group sat Holly Turnbull and Kate Ravenshaw. They were gossiping. If any rumour were to start, it would most likely have originated from this small duo. Holly was being hit on by Henry, and it would most likely be unsuccessful.

These were just some of the characters of the 44 students of St. Helier Anglican College.

As the coach cruised along the F3 Freeway, which would be the main route between Sydney and Glen Harbour, Erika Willai noticed three black sports utility vehicles lined up in a straight formation. Erika peered out the window and stared for a few seconds.

She then turned to her friends who were discussing what they were going to do on the weekend. Erika joined in on the conversation. As she did, she heard a thundercloud clap. It had started to rain heavily.

She chuckled. "Hope it's not like this when we get home, huh?"

* * *

12/11/08 2:10 pm

The coach was two thirds of the way home and the pirated DVD of _Wall-E_ had ended a long time ago. The coach was still on the F3, which didn't have much traffic for this time of day. Normally, this route would have some traffic, but today, the neither the students nor teachers had seen any traffic for the past 5 minutes. Most of them didn't notice, and those who did took no care of this potentially eerie situation.

At a normal pace and with normal composition, the driver steered off onto the side of the highway.

The driver spoke to the two supervising teachers. "I really need a cigarette."

The driver picked up a sports bag and hopped off the coach. The door closed. A popular radio station was playing, and on came a popular song. Some people sang along. The rest were either talking or reading. Some were doing both. Suddenly, the students heard a noise that sounded like gas seeping. This is exactly what it was. The students and the teachers looked confusedly around the inside of coach, not knowing what was going on.

Kate Ravenshaw let out a high-pitched scream. She thought the gas was flammable and the bus was going to explode. Max Roth pried a glass hammer off the side of the coach, but suddenly felt drowsy. Everyone on the coach had this sensation, students and teachers alike. Within 20 seconds, everyone on the coach was asleep.

Outside the coach with the black-tinted windows, the driver, who was a man in his 50's, _was_ actually having a cigarette. He could hear the frantic yelling and screaming from inside the coach. His black umbrella shielded him from the drizzly rain. He took one final puff of his cigarette and threw it on the ground. He then unzipped his sports bag. Inside was an oxygen mask, which he immediately fitted on.

He waited a minute and observed the scenery. Over the side of the highway, there was a 20 metre drop. A barricade separated the road from this drop. Just in the distance the bus driver could see a river and small suburban area. He then opened the coach door and stepped inside. He sat in his seat, started up the coach, and started driving, while checking every now and then to see if the children were asleep. The rain continued to pour down, making the driving conditions not ideal for him.

* * *

12/11/08, times ranging from 6:20 - 7:30 am

At the 43 homes that housed the 44 students (one house was home to the Greene twins), the families of each teenager were visited by men who drove black vehicles. They wore black clothes and black sunglasses. They were the men in black.

The parents of the children who had just arrived home from dropping their children off at the school's bus stop at the unusual time of 6:15.

The men in black either intercepted the parents as they were walking in, but they wouldn't do this if there were other people, such as younger siblings, with them. Instead, they would wait one minute and knock on the door and show their identification. Then they would tell the parents to send their child to their room.

The men would take the parents to a lounge room or a sitting room. They would tell them what was going to happen to their Year 10 children. There were five typical reactions to the statements spoken by the men in black.

1) The parents would start bawling extremely loudly, and the men would leave.

2) The parents would be in denial, and the men would leave.

3) The parents would silently nod, and the men would leave.

4) The parents would protest what was happening, and the men would usually leave straightaway.

5) The parents would act violent towards the men, in which case the men would pull out silenced pistols on kill them both. They wouldn't want to wake the neighbourhood with loud gunfire!

Quite a few parents would perform number 5, and would most likely be one step ahead of their teenage children. Sometimes, performing option 4 would end as if they performed action 5. If they tried to stop what was going to happen by calling, in this case, the Electric House Museum, it wouldn't matter, as the person on the other end would work for the same people as the men in black. Depending on the situation, the men in black would return to the house where the call was made and kill the parents in cold blood. There would be no silencer. The men in black wanted the whole area to know what would happen if you messed with their "organization".


	3. Class List

Males

#1 – Brown, Paul

#2 – Felton, Connor

#3 – Lewton, Ben

#4 – Danovaro, Robert

#5 – Dimaria, Rowan

#6 – Quintrell, Joshua

#7 – Carey, Adam

#8 – Sovkovay, Yuri

#9 – Weaver, Gregg

#10 – King, Anthony

#11 – Berwick, Matthew

#12 – Simpson, Jeffrey

#13 – Holland, Cole

#14 – Falco, Christopher

#15 – Enright, Zachary

#16 – Elliot, Rick

#17 – St. Claire, Henry

#18 – Hills, Hunter

#19 – Lockyer, Brian

#20 – Swayze, Clyde

#21 – Roth, Max

#22 – Barron, Wyatt

Females

#1 – Jennings, Gail

#2 – Rapley, Georgia

#3 – Crean, Jillian

#4 – Spall, Katherine

#5 – Beckmeyer, Michelle

#6 – Greene, Stephanie

#7 – Olsen, Wendy

#8 – Lazovic, Maria

#9 – Hernandez, Hayley

#10 – Turnbull, Holly

#11 – Silverman, Allison

#12 – Corland, Pheobe

#13 – Reid, Esther

#14 – Ravenshaw, Kate

#15 – Hewitt, Rebecca

#16 – Greene, Alyssa

#17 – Willai, Erika

#18 – Stevenson, Sarah

#19 – Chester, Heidi

#20 – Gray-Nixon, Charlotte

#21 – Linstrom, Victoria

#22 – Gilmore, Paige


	4. Orientation

3

3

12/11/08 11:35 pm

At about 11:10 pm, the coach full of students arrived at a small and recently-evacuated rural coastal community. This particular town's name was Dardanup.

Dardanup was about 16 kilometres around. It had waves of hills, its highest elevation point being 196 metres high. About three-fifths of it was bush land, the remainder being built environment. It had a maritime climate, meaning the winters are cool and wet, and the summers are warm to hot and relatively dry. Dardanup was described as the country meeting the sea. But the town's name was an Aboriginal word for "place of death" or a "place where people mourn for dead relatives".

During the summer, the population of Dardanup would be doubled as it had some of the most pristine beaches in Australia, and the tourism industry of the town was incredibly potent.

On the 10th of November, the 8000-or-so residents were evacuated from the community and moved to various accommodations across the country. The adult residents were each given 14000 compensation. Dardanup is located about 300 km south of Sydney.

Dardanup had the basic facilities of a small town. It has roads, a church, a primary and high school, a library, a small shopping centre; everything a small town needs, plus a small harbour, which no ship could get to, as all traffic in the Tasman Sea was suspended.

The coach that held the students of Year 10 St. Helier Anglican College traveled to the town centre, which was right near the harbour. The coach pulled up into a car park in front of the building that served as the council chambers for Dardanup. Waiting in the front of the building were a dozen soldiers, who entered the coach and carried each student into the council chambers, one by one. Mr. Lucas and Mr. Crane were left on the bus, and five men waited for them to wake up.

It was now 11:35 on a bitterly cold spring's night. The students were inside a large room with a stage, chairs stacked in rows against the walls, a screen and a hanging from the ceiling. It was a conference room. At the back is a small room that can be seen into through a window. This would have been a room with lighting and audio controls. This would be the type of room that could be used for the formal that would be taking place in several months. This particular group of students would not be attending that formal, where some girls would attempt to get tans, which would turn out to be a shade of orange. Some boys would hopelessly attempt to get a date for the event.

The typical teenagers of Year 10 St. Helier Anglican College were experiencing life. But all of their lives were changed by this cruel turn of fate, that wasn't dictated by anything natural.

One by one the students awoke in this weird, unfamiliar environment. All of them were drowsy and confused. They didn't know why they weren't home in bed or watching late-night TV.

Around the students' necks were metal collars, each fitted so that it couldn't be taken off by wriggling it around. Only a few students noticed these collars, but their minds were fixed on other things. What was happening?

There were murmurs coming from the students. "Where are we?"

"Shit, it's cold."

"What the hell's going on?"

The confusion in the dark lasted for forty seconds before a double door was opened from the outside of the conference room. Suddenly, the fluorescent ceiling lights flickered on. Most of the students groaned and squinted as the bright light disturbed their already shocked eyes. About a dozen people, all except one in army uniforms, entered the room. Two men were carting a shelf full of green bags. They stood by the door. The person who wasn't wearing an army uniform, a stout woman in her forties, was waving a bell.

DANG DANG DANG went the bell. It was incredibly loud, and to the students, it felt like being woken up at 5 am by a loud radio station with lots of static.

The woman also started making noise.

"All right, all right. Get up, you lazy adolescents. There's no tea or coffee, but wake up!"

This got most of the students' attention.

The woman walked through the students, who rushed to get out of her way. The army soldiers with brown rifles followed her. The woman walked up the stairs to the stage and stood at the podium.

"All right, is everyone awake?" the woman spoke to the students in a soft motherly voice, ten times as nicer than the gruff shout that she gave to the sleepy students seconds earlier. "Good. Now, I'm sure you're all wondering what's going on, so let me tell you. My name is Jenny Albion. Not my real name, but still, you _will_ refer to me as Ms. Albion. You see… Hey! Shut your mouth, you rude teenager!"

She pointed at Matthew Berwick, who was chatting to Joshua Quintrell, as if it was lunchtime. Albion jumped down from the stage and stormed over to the duo.

"How would you like it if I started talking over everything you say? Huh? Do you treat your teachers like this? Do you yap and muck up in class like this? Huh?!" Albion yelled at the two, who stood straight. "Tell me, class. Do these two talk in class like there's no tomorrow?"

Albion slapped Matthew over the ear. He cringed and rubbed his ear. Albion inhaled and exhaled.

"Sorry kids, I can get a bit angry when I am trying to do something, and I can't because _insolent children_ are talking over me. I used to be a teacher you know. Of Year Sevens P.E. students! God they were a handful. Always wanting to talk about sex. 'Aww, Miss, can we watch the sex ed. video?' 'Miss, what's the difference between a dick and a penis?'

"Yes… they were tough. But seriously, you two," she pointed at the two talkers, "Be _quiet_ while I speak."

Albion walked back up the stairs and to the podium again.

"Right-o," Albion said softly. "If you are still unsure about what is going on, brace yourselves, as I am going to reveal the BIGGEST shock of your life."

Then she said quickly, "You're taking part in the Program!", as if she were expecting the girls to jump up and down screaming with glee as if they saw a famous pop star take off his shirt.

The Program was set up in 1997 when a law was passed by the mysterious governing body of Australia. This mysterious governing body was governing since 1990, and at the top of the ladder, was a figure called the Dictator.

Australia is a totalitarian police state. Anyone anti-government would be shut up (i.e. killed). Australia worked because the masses were fearful. There were small factions of People's Armies, but were often shut down (i.e. bombed). Many theories were put forward by people as to why the Program even existed, the most common one being the government-supplied one, and the media-used one, "for 'research'".

The Program was set in an undisclosed location within the state of the class chosen to participate. The location would be revealed after the game ended.

This is what would happen. Every year, since 1997, a Year 10 class from somewhere in the country was chosen at random to participate in a game, where they would, literally, have to fight for survival. Students were provided with weapons, and eventually one would emerge "victorious". This student's face would be plastered all over everyone's television and all the newspapers.

Various methods are used to make the game proceed. The metal collars are the way of enforcing these methods. You will see how later.

"Isn't that amazing? I'm your instructor, of course. You've heard about it so much in the news, and now you're part of it? You'll each have a Wikipedia page, maybe." Albion giggled.

"No, no, no, no." said Rick Elliot (Male Student No. 16). He stood up defiantly.

"No?" responded Albion.

Rick Elliot always had an opinion on a matter, and was never shy about keeping it. This, combined with his shrill voice and persistent manner, created a character that many people in the class found incredibly annoying.

"Are you saying that we are going to kill each other?"

The whole room turned to stare at Rick, then at Jenny Albion. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying, Rick, better known as 'Prick'."

For the next ten seconds, the students started to speak to each other quietly, unaware that the collective noise was making the strict instructor angry.

One of the soldiers pulled out a pistol from the gun holder around his waist and fired at the ceiling.

"Quiet!" the soldier roared. The room went silent.

"Thankyou, Jim. Rick, do you have anymore questions?" the calm Ms. Albion said.

"Uh, yeah. How do you know my name?" inquired Rick. He knew that his questions weren't important, but he didn't care.

"Oh, all of you have a file. Yes, a file; with information, doctor's records, a photo and more. That's how I know your name, Rick Tomislav Elliot. Now, everyone sit down and be quiet, as you're about to see a quick film. Uh, Rodriguez, can you start it for the class?" she spoke to a man in the room behind the room with the window.

Albion stepped down from the stage. The projector on the ceiling whirred and an image appeared on the screen above the stage. The image said "RGB searching". Then another image appeared and in the top-right corner of the screen, it said "Play".

Jolly music started to play. A woman appeared on the screen. She was wearing a flowery skirt that reached her shins and a green shirt. She could easily be mistaken for a kindergarten teacher.

"Hi there everyone in Year 10!" the woman on the screen said. Her voice was bright and bubbly, and did not match the grim atmosphere and feeling of the room. "I'm here to explain the rules of the Program. But first, you can call me your B-i-i-i-i-g Sister!

"You are the lucky class chosen for this year's Program. Congratulations! Now watch carefully, because if you don't, it could mean you miss an important point.

"OK, you might be wondering where you are. You are in the town called Dardanup. Up until yesterday, it was populated, but we evacuated it, so now it's empty! Don't bother trying to escape, as the ocean is being controlled by ships that _will_ fire upon sight, and the town has been surrounded by incredibly strong electric fences! BZZZ! BZZZ!"

Images of battleships and lighting bolts danced behind Big Sister. To the students, this felt like an insult on their intelligence, as the whole video was styled to the likings of a pre-school student. It genuinely looked like a television show you'd find on a public broadcaster at 3 p.m. on a weekday.

"Here is what the Dardanup looks like from above." On the screen, there was a satellite image of what was supposed to be where everyone was.

"See? You are here. You will be provided with a map, so consult it to learn the area. The town and its surrounding bush land, has been equally divided into dozens of zones, which is shown here. They will also be on your supplied map.

"Every six hours, or four times a day, your instructor, the lovely Ms. Albion, will report on who has died and the new _'danger'_ zones. If you turn out to be in a danger zone, you should leave quickly because the danger will be something that is in relation to the collars around your necks."

A lot of the students started fingering the collars. They had just realised that there were hunks of metal around their necks.

"They are completely shockproof and waterproof, and permanent! They monitor your carotid artery, and it also informs Ms. Albion of your movements and your location via satellite. Isn't that groovy? But, if you lurk into a danger zone, whether it is accidental or on purpose, we can transmit radio waves that will reach your collar, trigger a really loud alarm, and make it go BOOM! It blows up!"

At this instant, the students jumped in fright of the terrifying news.

"And if you try to disable it or tear it off, it explodes too!"

Most students who were fingering the collar immediately let go in fright. Albion snickered at this sight.

"So, in short, don't be silly with them! Please promise me not to do this, as it won't be very fun, will it?"

The fact that the Big Sister used the word fun when explaining the Program disgusted the students.

"Jesus Christ, Ms. Albion, that's awful!" Esther Reid (Female Student #13) spoke up. "How can you do this? How can you be supporting this disgusting game? It killed my cousin, my aunty and my uncle! I hate it! I hate everything about this fugly government!"

"Esther, stop!" screamed Allison Silverman (Female Student #11). The usually tough pairing of Allison and Esther were both beside themselves in fear.

"Rodriguez," said Albion, "Pause the DVD. And rewind it a bit. Esther, dearest, do you realise you just broke two laws? Firstly, you voiced your hatred towards our government, which is punishable by death. Secondly, you disobeyed a government official, by speaking when you're not supposed to!"

Esther started to tremble.

"Now, this is against the rules, but, should you happen to win the game, I really don't want you spreading your anti-government FILTH anymore. I love this nation too much, to see silly little girls spew out propagandist crap against our leaders. So… you'll be joining your parents soon. Oh, and your little brother, who apparently had some nerve to attack our men."

Albion pulled out a pistol and pointed it at Esther, who was five metres from Albion. "I'm sorry, dear. Well, not really, but still…"

BLAM, BLAM. Albion pulled the trigger of the pistol, twice. The first bullet hit Esther in the clavicle, the second in the chest. She started to fall backwards, and when she landed, a loud THUD echoed throughout the room.

Every single student in the room started to scream. Many ran towards the only exit, which was the double door at the back of the room. The soldiers guarding the door yelled "Get back!" and shot the ceiling with their brown Kalashnikov rifles.

"Sit down on the floor!" they roared. It took them about twenty seconds to calm the students down. When they were calm, and there was no more screaming, they sat on the floor. They sat in a circle, surrounding and staring at the recently murdered Esther Reid.

**KILLED**

**Girl #13 – Reid, Esther**

**43 students remaining**


	5. Roll Call

4

4

12/11/08 11:52 pm

"Alright everyone, are you calm?" Albion said quietly. "Now I want you to breathe in…" she inhaled, "and out," she exhaled.

She made the class do this for a minute before asking the man in the audio room behind the conference room to play the film again.

The Big Sister started to move and talk again in her usual fashion.

"…fun, will it? And also," she continued as if she wasn't paused earlier, "there is a time limit on the game. 3 days, or 72 hours. If we haven't got a winner by then…"

Some students anticipated the Big Sister's next words, "All the collars automatically explode!"

The students were half-expecting this.

"Now, I'm going to hand you over to Ms. Albion, and she'll field any questions you may have."

The image froze.

Ms. Albion piped up, "OK then, are their any questions? Make them quick, as we're late."

"Yes, Ms. Albion. I have one," said Georgia Rapley (Female Student #2), who was at the back of the room.

"Go ahead."

"How we're we chosen, and are there any ways we can get out of this? Like, money? You would have heard of my dad, right?"

"Alright Miss Rapley," Albion started, "first of all, your class was chosen by a very unfortunate lottery. Bet you would've liked to won the Powerball jackpot instead, ay?"

Albion chuckled. "To answer your other question, the only way to get out of the Program, is to win it. Georgia, to win, you have to be the last standing. And, the government has enough money as it is, your feeble donation of a few million wouldn't make much difference. And accepting your father's money as a bribe wouldn't be very fair to the other forty-three… no sorry, forty-_two_ students in your class would it? Just because you have money and influence, it doesn't mean your superior to any of your classmates… BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT!"

The final sentence literally blew Georgia back on the floor.

Georgia Rapley offered money as she came from a very wealthy family. Her father was a very lucky stock investor, who seemed to make all the right moves. His luckiness actually had him investigated by ASIO earlier in the year.

"Any more questions, you lot?"

"Yes, Ms. Albion," said Brian Lockyer (Male Student #19), the geeky car nerd, "Where are our teachers? What happened to Ms. Kane and Mr. Lucas?"

Most of the students hadn't considered their adult teachers in all the confusion and bloodshed.

"Oh gosh, thank you for reminding me! I would've forgotten!" said Albion happily. "I regret to inform you that, Ms. Kane protested, rather violently, and she was shot to death."

No students flinched or jumped at that. Protesters being killed were no surprise to them.

"Ms. Kane was against this class being chosen. She pleaded for your lives. I'm sure she was a fabulous history teacher. Mr. Lucas, on the other hand, conformed to the Program after he saw Ms. Kane get shot. He's currently having a hot chocolate."

Albion laughed at this 'joke'. "Are there any more questions? It's almost midnight!"

Christopher Falco (Male Student #15) stood up and raised his hand. He was hunched, in a position to readily sit down.

"Yeeees? Mr. Falco?"

"Wh-what happened t-to our parents?" Christopher said lowly and timidly.

Albion looked at the ceiling and scratched her chin.

"I… _think_ that some of your parents were killed; in fact I'm certain! I'm honestly not sure about _your_ parents Christopher. But, if they're still alive, they probably didn't love you!"

Albion burst out laughing. One of the soldiers laughed as well.

Albion looked like she was about to cry, but she instead composed herself and stood straight and said, "OK, any more questions? It _is_ now midnight."

No one answered her call.

"OK. Rodriguez…" she waved her hand towards the screen with the Big Sister still frozen on it, and the Big Sister started to move and speak.

"When you leave the room, you will take a bag that will be given to you. Inside the bag will be food, water, a torch, a map, a wristwatch, a compass, and most importantly, a weapon. Each weapon is random, so maybe you'll get lucky, maybe not. Weapons will have their advantages and their disadvantages, so if you get unlucky, you ARE allowed to take other people's weapons. Collateral damage is NOT an issue, so don't fret if you shoot someone's door off.

"Oh, and this year, one student will get a very special weapon. A Toyota Land Cruiser! Nearly all of you should be on your L-plates, so have fun with that!

"Also, in every girl's bag, are 'personal items' such as tampons. Also, if you have to take any essential medication, such as insulin, they will be given to you by the man at the door.

"It's time to leave. Each of you will leave the room by a number that has been assigned to you. It will go boy, girl, boy, girl. Each student will be called with a time lapse of a minute. You are to leave through the route that is patrolled by the soldiers. Any person dawdling will be shot! Oh, and one more thing, twenty minutes after the last student has left, the zone your in now will be a danger zone! Good luck, Year 10!"

Big Sister became still once again. She was stuck enthusiastically giving two thumbs towards the camera, and a huge open smile was spread across her face.

By now, many groups and friends were huddled together. Some students were whispering incredibly quietly, as they probably wanted to meet each other at a specific location.

Big Sister started the roll call.

"Boy #1; Paul Brown."

The image of the Big Sister froze.

When Paul realised that was him, he started to weep. He ran towards the only door in the room. A green bag from the two shelves was thrown at him. He caught and fumbled with the bag as he ran.

His crying and panting could be heard by everyone.


	6. Hour 0: 43 students remaining

**Yes, this is a direct "homage" or "copy" of the Yoshio Akamatsu story in the original Battle Royale. Please don't write abusive emails to me. What a great way for the Akamatsu of my year to die! No, it is too much like the original and for that I apologize, because I am very lazy and don't want to alter the story very much, now. It's progressing quite nicely. Please read and rate.**

* * *

5

13/11/08 12:01 a.m.

Big Sister continued her droning roll-call. Her once bubbly voice now sounded like a robotic automation. "Girl #1, Gail Jennings."

Like Paul, Gail started to sob. She stood up and moved quickly towards the door. The soldier at the door threw a green bag at Gail, who absorbed the shock with a gasp.

Another minute went by. The next student was Connor Felton, then Georgia Rapley. Every single student exited the room with a green duffel bag. They would walk (or run) down the wide hallway. When they exited the conference room, to the left of them would be a door, which led to the audio/lighting booth. They would walk down the gloomy hallway and enter an open door on their right. It led to a waiting room, complete with a front desk and a coffee table with magazines.

In each room, there were soldiers standing silently, with rifles in their hand. They would shoot any student who attempted to open their green bag in their presence. In the wide hallway, there was a 'guard of honour', consisting of dangerous-looking soldiers.

The students would exit the waiting room and enter a large foyer. They would ultimately exit the building, and meet the cold night outside. They were on the main road of Dardanup. The students would either head north or south along the road, or sometimes east, across the park that looks so pristine. But only a very slim minority of students headed west, which meant turning around and going through the alleys behind the council building.

At approximately 12:50 am, Female Student #22 Paige Gilmore left the building to meet up with her best friend that luckily immediately preceded her, Male Student #22 Wyatt Barron.

They decided that there was no time to waste, as the zone they were in, F-05, would be a danger zone within 20 minutes. They started to run east, across the park and through the football field. They were still running, when they noticed something up ahead.

Wyatt stalled.

"Paige," he said quietly, "What's that?"

They looked at each other and started walking towards the thing in front of them.

Paige shuddered loudly. It wasn't because of the cold. They were quite warm now as they had been sprinting for several minutes. They had escaped the danger zone, as they were now in F-06.

Paige whimpered and looked at Wyatt, who looked like he was going to vomit.

They were staring at the body of Paul Brown (Male Student #1). His stomach looked like it had been blown apart.

After 10 seconds of dumbfounded staring, Wyatt broke the silence.

"Come on, we have to move," Wyatt urged Paige. He tugged at her blouse.

Wyatt started to sprint again. He ran 10 metres before calling to Paige.

"Paige, come on!"

Paige slowly moved her head towards Wyatt. She started to jog. She had tears in her eyes. She moaned as they ran into the bush at the edge of the football field.

At exactly 1:10 am, F-05 became a danger zone. Entering it would mean certain death.

* * *

12:19 am

Paul Brown sat huddled in the bushes, shivering. He was beside his weapon, which was a large crossbow. Paul was an overweight boy with round prescription glasses. He had short dark brown hair and was his skin was paler than it usually was, certainly because of his fear of what was going to happen to him.

Paul often got bullied by the bogans, especially Joshua Quintrell. They mocked his weight and his voice. Paul had grown up with a speech impediment, for which he decided to stop receiving treatment. His stuttering and his strange indecipherable accent, which seemed to be a mix between an Australian and a Dutch one, often led to the bogans comparing him to the character Üter on _The Simpsons_, or Augustus Gloop for _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_.

Paul was weighing up his decision of whether or not he'd play the game. He was certain that people like Joshua and his friends would kill him, and the other students would not come to his rescue, much like the playground at recess or lunch.

_Esther's already dead. People are going to be motivated to kill now that they know it's for real. I won't be a victim. I'll come out on top. I want to live._

At this thought, Paul stood up slowly, picked his crossbow and his green bag and started to slowly move. His plan was to go back and wait outside the council chambers, and snipe each student that comes out_. It's not like they wouldn't kill me if they had the chance. I've seen the stats on these games. Only 4% of them ended with all the collars exploding. I don't want my head blown off._

_I'll win. I'm a winner. Not a loser._

Paul started to head west, back the way he came. He fought back tears. Deep down, he knew this was unethical. But he didn't want to die. He wanted to be either a scientist or a sports player; someone with a reputable and respected profession.

He came out from the bushes and onto the football field. He despised rugby league and a lot of the people that played it, especially in his school. Nevertheless, he would attempt to immerse himself in the game and the people that played it at lunchtime. Unfortunately for him that also included the bogans. Although they didn't really _play_, they just stood at the sideline at laughed if Paul fumbled the ball or fell over. No, it wasn't rugby that was Paul's passion; it was soccer. He dreamed of once being able to be the goalkeeper for the Australian soccer team, the Socceroos.

These dreams only gave him further motivation. But, staring blankly into space as he walked, fantasizing, Paul tripped on a tree root in the ground and fell down. His crossbow flew five metres in front of him and as he looked up, he saw a dark figure running towards him.

His glasses had cracked in a web-like formation, and therefore his vision was jaded.

He quickly stood up and rushed over to pick up his crossbow, which he pointed at the figure. The figure was a lanky person. Just then, Paul noticed something sticking out the side about 10 metres away, and Paul still couldn't see his face. He could make out that the figure was a very tall person.

"Wh-wh-who are you?" Paul stammered, still pointing his crossbow at the dark figure.

The figure took several steps towards Paul.

It was Joshua Quintrell. And that thing sticking out of him was a shotgun. He was holding a shotgun.

"Oy, Üter," said Joshua, while fingering his shotgun.

Paul shrieked when Joshua raised his shotgun (a Remington 870) and pointed it at his chest.

Paul's finger automatically pulled the crossbow trigger. His eyes opened wide, as did Joshua's. The arrow whizzed passed Joshua's right shoulder.

Joshua pulled the trigger of his shotgun. It was aimed at Paul's stomach, which now looked like it had caved in.

"Oh, wow," he said surprisedly.

Joshua realized what had happened. He looked around frantically, picked up Paul's crossbow and started running east.

**KILLED**

**Boy #1 – Brown, Paul**

**42 students remaining**

* * *


	7. Hour 1: 42 students remaining

1:44 a.m.

Rebecca Hewitt (Female Student #15) had been running. She had run approximately 4 kilometres with little rest. She was now resting, on the floor inside a grocery store. She wasn't used to long-distance running – she preferred short bursts of sprinting. After about half an hour of running, in which she escaped the potentially-fatal attack of Holly Turnbull (Female Student #10), she felt extremely hungry.

The only reason she escaped Holly, it seems, was because Holly's gun had malfunctioned. At least, this is what it looked like from Rebecca's point-of-view. When Holly had attacked Rebecca, Rebecca was standing at least five metres away from her assailant. Holly had pointed a very strange-looking pistol at her. In Rebecca's view, it looked like a cross-between a gun and a cordless drill.

Just after she was called fat by Holly, the gun fired. But the gun simply expelled a whoosh of air. While Holly was left swearing and confused about what had happened, Rebecca made her escape. She had a gun, but she didn't use it for two reasons:

She didn't know how to work it either. She was convinced that if she fired it, someone else would be close-by and would kill her.

She was just too damn nice.

Now, Rebecca had an insatiable hunger. The bread given to her in the duffel bag was kind-of stale, and the small grocery store was like a dream come true. Well, her actual dream at the moment was to be able to escape from Dardanup and return home.

But this was good for now. She browsed the shelves looking for something to eat. It all looked so good.

She settled for a packet of Tim Tam biscuits. The packaging that proudly boasted the fact that it was "Aussie-owned and made" shone under a mosquito lamp that flickered randomly.

_Oh God. This looks great!_

A snack food with two layers of chocolate malted biscuit, separated by a light chocolate cream filling and coated in textured chocolate wasn't the healthiest option for Rebecca. She weighed just less than 100 kilograms and came in at 5 foot 8, but the way she saw it, she was just a bit plump.

She wasn't grossly overweight, compared to some people in her class (Paul Brown and Michelle Beckmeyer came to her mind). If she was so fat, then why could she play basketball so well?

Rebecca's school basketball team came to mind. The under sixteens SHAC Saints. She could remember the games played with Paige Gilmore, Esther Reid, Heidi Chester, Wendy Olsen and Hayley Hernandez.

Mostly, their team played average. But they weren't in it for the chance to win (although a win was always nice and worth celebrating, Esther was the only one unnecessarily competitive); they just wanted to have fun. 'Real' basketball competitions, not the ones held by schools, were worth competing in if you actually wanted to play aggressively.

But right now; the Tim Tams.

Rebecca tore open the packaging of the Tim Tams and pulled the small plastic tray out. She sat down on the floor and picked up the first Tim Tam in the row. She popped the biscuit into her mouth and savoured it. God, it was good.

Before she knew it, the entire packet of Tim Tams had been eaten.

This was lovely. Peace and quiet, in a small grocery store overlooking a harbour from an office above the main shop. She had a great view of outside from the top of the store. The view extended from Orphaned Cove in C-6 to the headland of B-9. And more east of B-9, the Tasman Sea. Freedom, a couple of thousand kilometres to New Zealand. But just around the corner, there was a more accessible kind of freedom.

_It could be possible_, Rebecca thought as she chomped away on her third packet of Tim Tams. _God, these are good._

* * *

1:18 a.m.

"Ohhhh," Holly Turnbull said to herself, "I get it now."

Holly realised her mistake in attacking Rebecca Hewitt. Her gun wasn't designed to be used from a distance. It was designed to be used up close, pressed down hard on the target.

Holly hadn't consulted the manual that came with her captive bolt pistol. She just assumed it was loaded and ready to use, just like in the movies. No, the cattle gun was supposed to be fired when it was pressed up against Rebecca Hewitt's head. There, a large pointed bolt would quickly be propelled and then retracted. The resulting penetrating blow would leave part of the brain destroyed and the foe to be knocked out cold. The victim could bleed to death or be mutilated by the attacker.

The realistically-drawn cartoon illustrating this was very clear. It showed the correct and incorrect ways of using the cattle gun.

It wasn't exactly the most convenient of weapons, but it would do. Just to be sure, Holly grabbed a box cutter and a wrench from a local hardware store. She would've taken a chainsaw off the racks, but she it wouldn't have fit in her duffel bag, and there was no way that she was lugging around a chainsaw with her for what could possibly be three days.

Those tools, combined with a girl determined to win the Program, made good hunting and great entertainment for those in the council building headquarters who listened.

* * *

1:55 a.m.

In another store, that was in Dardanup's small but very profitable shopping district that was situated in sectors D-6, D-7, D-8, E-6 and E-7, two girls made themselves very comfortable in a designer fashion boutique. They broke in through a back window that was made accessible from an alleyway.

"A clothes shop?" one of them said upon entering.

"Hey," the other one replied, "if we're going to die a horrible death, we might as well look good while doing it."

"I guess you're right."

"You know it!"

Alyssa (Female Student #16) and Stephanie Greene (Female Student #6) displayed wide grins as they incorporated one of their greatest loves into the Program. Shopping.

"What is this place exactly?" Stephanie asked.

"Supre, I think," Alyssa responded. "Or Witchery. I can't really remember."

"I wouldn't think that some little town that's nowhere near anywhere would have any kind of brand store," Stephanie sniggered.

"Same," Alyssa said approvingly.

The twins stood in the room, eyeing the numerous racks of clothing that populated the store. What to wear, what to wear.

Stephanie flipped her hair out of her face. She and her sister both wore it long, with the top bleached yellow, and the underside brunette.

"Skunks!" they were often yelled at by passing cars. They would just shrug it off and continue strutting their stuff. After all, it didn't matter that they had 'skunk' hair, they were both incredibly slim and good-looking.

Nearly everything about them was identical, right down to their personalities. Shallow, ditzy, air-headed, clueless – those were some common words used to describe them. The only thing that distinguished Alyssa from Stephanie was that the latter had braces. Before she got braces, the only way they could make it easy for people to tell them apart was to wear different colour jewellery. Alyssa would wear silver and Stephanie would wear gold.

"Yeah, this is definitely Supré," Stephanie confirmed.

"How great is it!" Alyssa said.

"Shut up," Stephanie growled, "you idiot."

"Sorry," Alyssa said more quietly, "but how good is this?"

"I know!" Stephanie squeaked.

Alyssa dropped her duffel bag and ran over to a rack and flipped through various dresses, while Stephanie looked at accessories on the wall.

"Ohh," Alyssa cooed, "look at this."

Alyssa held up a hot pink frilly dress and showed it to her sister.

"That _is_ cute," said Stephanie, "but come over here and look at this bag."

"OK," Alyssa started to walk across the store. That's when it happened.

Four shots from a semi-automatic pistol. All four went through the glass that separated the inside of the store and the main shopping street of Dardanup. They all narrowly missed Alyssa's body. If it had been lighter, the attacker would've had a better time seeing its target, but right now, it was incredibly dark.

Alyssa's initial reactions were to hunch over and protect her eyes and her face. She shrieked, while Stephanie's scream was higher than a soprano's.

They both ran to the back of the store, where they had dropped their bags, too eager to shop their last few days until they dropped. Stephanie dived and zipped open her bag. She pulled out her assigned weapon, a Franchi SPAS 12: a very large shotgun.

_Why would they give this to me? Do they think it's funny?_

Instead of a shotgun, Stephanie longed for a weapon that was lighter and easier to use, like a small pistol. But she had a SPAS 12, which would require two people of her size and strength to be able to use it properly.

Alyssa grabbed her weapon from her pack, even through it wasn't a projectile. Regardless, her kama sickle would protect her and her sister from the attacker outside.

Another three shots. Alyssa gasped at the first one, but nonetheless, remained composed.

The twins ran behind and under the shops' registers. If the twins took a peek, they would be able to see the street and the boutique's glass window with its bullet holes. But there was also the chance of getting shot. If they wanted to ward off their attacker, they would have to do the last available safe option.

Blind fire.

"Alyssa!" Stephanie yelled. "Help me with this!"

The shotgun was loaded and ready to fire. The twins lifted it up into the air. They placed it on the counter and pointed it towards the street and at the unknown attacker.

"Ready! Fire!"

With fours hands holding the gun, Stephanie pulled the trigger. The shotgun jerked violently, even with four hands holding it down. The dozens of pellets whizzed through the glass. Stephanie pulled the trigger again. This time, the girls held the shotgun down with more force, but it still gave a violent reaction that sent shivers up the girls' spines and arms.

"AGGK!" a voice from the shopping strip croaked. "AAAGH!"

Within twenty seconds of it starting, the attack was over. It came as a very unwanted surprise for the Greene twins, who wanted to spend their last few hours together. This startling assault by an unknown assailant, who could've been their friend or their enemy, gave the twins a good wakeup call and shoved the reality of the Program right into their faces.

Or in Alyssa's case, her back.

"Are you OK, Lys?"

Alyssa didn't respond. She simply gave a throaty gasp.

Stephanie shrieked when she saw it. A large red hole punctured in the back of Alyssa's blouse, surrounded by blood.

"Oh God, oh God," Stephanie repeated. It was all she could say.

Stephanie felt Alyssa's neck for a pulse, despite the fact that she was still obviously alive. She just, wasn't doing so well. Stephanie simply repeated what she had seen in movies. Her emotions weren't movie-like though. She had no idea what to do after she had checked to see whether her sister was alive.

Stephanie Greene was, in a nutshell, scared shitless.

* * *

1:57 a.m.

Rick Elliot (Male Student #16) would've returned to the Supré (_more like 'Slutpr__é_) store when he heard Stephanie's scream three seconds after the gunfire ended. He would've finished them off, as he was sure one of them was wounded. Badly, he hoped. But, unfortunately for him, he was wounded too. Badly. Even though she was ten feet away, the second shotgun blast hit Rick right in the abdomen. (The thought of the word 'abdomen' actually reminded Rick of a time in a health class, when Stephanie asked the teacher: "What's an abdominal?")

Rick didn't care for the Greene twins. In fact he despised them. He hated their airheadedness, their attitude to life, their voices. The fact that they blindly followed Jason Swayze in calling Rick: "Shitbitch", even though Jason forgot the nickname that he had created with Cole Holland one day in Ms. Kane's history lessons.

They would chirp like parrots for days, "Shitbitch, Shitbitch, ha ha ha."

_Useless, both of them. A waste of space. That space, if it had feelings, would prefer to not be occupied by two cocksucking bimbos._

But right now, Rick's main priority was to get patched up. He figured he would have to do it himself, as not many people would trust Rick Elliot. He was greatly unpopular, mainly due to the fact that he was a callous asshole.

Rick would return later to finish off the Greene twins. He had a hunch (_a hunch, ha-ha-ha_) that they would stay in the Supré store for the time being, for two reasons:

_They still probably want their fucking shoes._

_One of them is wounded. They won't want to walk very far with a bullet stuck in their body._

Rick continued to hobble down the street, looking back regularly. _Those bitches won't know what hit 'em._

**NO STUDENTS KILLED**

**42 STUDENTS REMAINING**


	8. Hour 2: 42 students remaining

2:12 am

Hunter Hills (Male Student #19) walked along a trail in the bush, with a tomahawk in his right hand and a map in his left. Seconds before she had departed from the council building, his girlfriend Phoebe Corland (Female Student #12), slipped him a note that said, 'B-9'.

Hunter naturally assumed that this meant 'Meet me at B-9', so he had walked directly north of the council building through residential streets, the shopping district, through dense bush that overlooked Orphaned Cove, which was apparently the largest blowhole in the world, as the sign leading its path claimed. At about five to 1, when he got to B-5, he could hear faint gunshots across the inlet from the shopping district. He realized now how dire the situation was. He had to find her quickly. Hunter started to run east along the edge of the sixty metre high cliff.

_Do things right - be the best you can be _– thoughts of insincere encouragement swirled in his head. They were words of pressure from Hunter's father; the one who originally pushed Hunter to become a football player. Some argued that Hunter was the best player in the school. This year, Hunter only played for SHAC's Saturday rugby league team because his back needed a break from playing really competitive membership club football. Along with Jeff Simpson, Wyatt Barron, Jason Swayze, Zach Enright, Matthew Berwick, Henry St. Claire, Robert Danovaro and many others from Grades 9 and 11, he catapulted his team to the top of the ladder. But, overall his heart wasn't in the game; it was in his girlfriend.

About a year ago, Hunter had watched _The Breakfast Club_ and wondered: could all this obsession towards sports that involved agression make him like the Emilio Estévez character from _The Breakfast Club_? Hardly, but one aspect of the movie character and Hunter's character that was shared was the fact that they both dated a princess.

But Phoebe Corland wasn't your average princess. She only had the looks of a princess. She was incredibly friendly, not snobby at all. She came from a fairly affluent family who owned large farming property in regional New South Wales. Usually, her parents would've preferred she not date someone who was likely to break his neck doing stupid Jackass-like stunts with his football mates, but they were won over with Hunter's placid, yet charming nature.

Hunter started dating Phoebe a year ago, and during that time, some people said that he became more calm, more 'gooey', and more of a 'I love walks on the beach' kind of person.

This was partially true. Hunter often had violent mood swings before he started dating Phoebe. Rumours had speculated that he was abusing anabolic steroids to further his football career. This turned out to be true when Phoebe found a used needle in Hunter's sports bag. When this happened, Hunter swore off steroids for good. So, over time, they became less frequent. Sooner or later, they stopped altogether, and Hunter became a more kind and caring person.

Jeff Simpson, one of Hunter's best friends, often joked about Hunter's now mellowed attitude, saying "Pheebs, what have you _done_ to him? You've turned him into a pussy!"

Hunter stopped and plucked a bouquet of petunias from the front garden of a large house that was perched right on the cliff. The backyard of it would've been no more than 6 metres long, before you hit the cliff.

Hunter couldn't see the true colours of these in the dark, but he was sure that Phoebe would like them. _You're an old-school romantic. _He stopped and unzipped his bag. He took out his torch and his map. He seemed to be in B-9, so Phoebe would have to be nearby.

Hunter looked east and squinted. He could (barely) see a dark figure standing about 10 metres away from the edge of the easternmost cliff in Dardanup. He ran about 400 metres, and while he was running, some petals from the flowers of his small bouquet flew off, but they were mostly intact.

The figure was definitely Phoebe. The last 100 metres of his sprint were the fastest yet. He put his tomahawk back in his bag, which felt incredibly light.

Phoebe was a tall, pretty girl. She was very kind, energetic, loud and funny. She'd be loud and she would laugh in almost every class she was in, but, the teachers generally didn't care as she got good grades and she always brought a fun vibe to the classroom.

Hunter couldn't contain himself. He dropped his bag and flung himself at Phoebe, who warmly welcomed his hug. They also kissed, even though it was kind of inappropriate for this situation. The kiss lasted for nine seconds before they stopped and then stared into each other's eyes.

Hunter broke the silence. "Are you all right? Did anything happen to you?"

He held her shoulders and looked sternly into her eyes.

"No, no, I'm fine," Phoebe replied. "What about you?"

"No, I'm good. Oh, it's _so_ good to see you!"

Phoebe shushed him as her eyes darted round the scenery. "There could be someone around!" she sternly whispered.

"Sorry," Hunter replied sheepishly.

Several moments went by.

Hunter broke the silence, "Why did you want to meet here? This… cold cliff." He observed the scenery: lots of scrub, open water, glimmers of light across the harbour, a big drop over the cliffs, several lights racing across the ocean.

Phoebe didn't answer the question.

"Why here? I mean, it's pretty open; anyone could see us."

"I, uh…"

"What? What's wrong?"

Phoebe stayed silent.

"It's okay. I'll protect you. If we're alive at the end, I'll sacrifice myself so you can live."

Phoebe immediately responded, "No. You won't do that."

"Why? I have an axe or something, and I'll only use it when it's absolutely necessary. What have you got for a weapon?" Hunter didn't want to kill, but if the time came, he would have absolutely no qualms about it. He would protect his girl until the end.

"A stun gun."

"That could be useful."

More time passed.

"I can't play this game," Phoebe said. "I don't want to be a part of it."

"But… but, if you don't, you'll die. We'll die!"

Phoebe swallowed. "We'll kill ourselves."

Hunter was dumbfounded. He responded in a deadpan tone, "What..?"

"We'll jump. Here, us, together!"

"B-but you need to live! I can't _not_ let you live! Look, I'll protect you. You'll be fine. If the two of us are left at the end, I'll kill myself so you can survive."

"No, sweetie." "

"I swear I will. Do you really think I'd turn on you at the last minute?"

"It's not that. It's not about that.

"Then what?"

Phoebe bit her lip. "Do you love me?"

Hunter stalled for a second and then said, "Yes, of course. With all my heart."

"I love you too. I couldn't bear to live without you."

Hunter had no idea what to say. He stared into her eyes.

Finally he said, "Me neither. But can we not do it now? Can we like… wai–?"

"You BITCH!"

From the bushes parallel to the talking couple, Jeff Simpson (Male Student #12) leaped. Phoebe and Hunter both turned to face him and they became wide eyed. Even though it was dark and he was 20 feet away, they could easily make out his angry expression.

"WHORE!"

Jeff pulled a large semi-automatic (Jericho 941) from the pocket of his school pants and pointed it at Phoebe, whose entire front body was exposed. He instantly pulled the trigger and a large hole formed just below Phoebe's right breast. Jeff pulled the trigger again and another wound appeared on her abdomen.

Phoebe collapsed to the ground. The gunshots' echoes were still ringing.

Hunter had to think quickly. It was important in a game like football to be able to perceive things, have a quick reaction time and good motor skills. There was a guy with a gun._ And he shot my girl! Asshole! _

Hunter frantically bent down and rummaged through his bag. He pulled out his tomahawk and dashed over to Jeff.

Jeff couldn't keep his hands still. He couldn't aim straight. He fired twice at Hunter, but both times they missed him. Both shots flew nowhere near Hunter.

Jeff could see Hunter's teeth bearing. They gleamed in the night, and that made them all the more menacing.

_Shit! Run!_

Jeff turned his back and started to run for his life. But he couldn't get away. Two seconds later, he felt an extremely sharp pain in his leg. He let out a scream and tripped to the ground. With his face planted in the cracked ground, he weakly turned his dirt-covered face to look at what had caused the pain.

Much of the blade of Hunter's tomahawk was lodged in Jeff's right leg, just next to his ass. His eyes were wide open, as if he didn't know what had hit him. Jeff started to whine and whimper, like a dog wanting to come inside on a cold night.

Hunter was panting. He stayed in the same position as he did when he was following through after the throw. It was exhilarating. He realised that Jeff was not dead yet, but that wasn't his current dilemma.

_Phoebe. Phoebe!_

Hunter ran over to Phoebe. Lots of blood was coming from her wounds that bastard Jeff Simpson had caused. _Her heart's still going, that's good, that's good. _Phoebe's lovely white blouse was now covered in red.

"Pheebs! Phoebe!" he cried.

She didn't respond. Hunter put two fingers to neck, taking care not to move the collar too much. He didn't know whether it was real or not, but luckily, Phoebe still had a pulse. But she had fainted. Passed out from shock.

In a way, this was good for Phoebe. It meant she did not have to see or hear what Hunter was about to do to Jeff Simpson.

Hunter's list of things to do seemed endless in his mind. Save Phoebe, don't let Jeff escape, torture Jeff, kill Jeff, apply first aid to Phoebe, wait for Phoebe to wake up, decide next move.

Number two, first. Don't let Jeff Simpson escape. _I need that try-hard motherfucker alive for now._

Hunter stopped looking at Phoebe's wounds to face Jeff, who was still wailing. He still had the tomahawk stuck in his thigh. Hunter stood up and calmly walked over to Jeff. The word "calm", however, would not apply to Hunter's facial expression. It was an expression that was a cross between blind, psychotic rage and sick, twisted glee. Rage because his girlfriend was shot by a (former) friend; and glee because he was definitely going to enjoy what he was about to do.

Hunter bent down and picked up the handgun that once belonged to Jeff. He continued to walk, his footsteps becoming louder each time.

Jeff stopped looking at the tomahawk in his thigh and glanced up at Hunter slowly approaching. After only one look at his face, all that Jeff felt was fear. Fear and a particular numbness. It might have been the moonlight, but Jeff's fear had turned his face silver.

"No, no!" Jeff screamed as he swatted his hand at the air.

"Oh hell yes!" Hunter bellowed.

Hunter extracted the tomahawk from Jeff's thigh. It hadn't hit an artery, so blood flow was simply that of a deep cut. Jeff gasped.

"What are you doing?" Jeff bawled.

Hunter didn't respond. He just growled. Hunter started to hover the tomahawk of Jeffrey's exposed right ankle. He lifted the tomahawk up into the air. As Jeff watched on, the realisation of Hunter's intentions became clear.

"NO!"

The blade swung down and made contact with the Jeff's ankle. The tomahawk's blade wasn't the sharpest it could possibly be, so it left a half-done job.

Hunter realized this, while Jeff was howling like a wounded wolf. _Might as well finish_. He brought the tomahawk down in one quick chop. The cut wasn't exactly surgical. The triangular stump that used to be Jeff's ankle was furiously bleeding. He couldn't see amazingly well in the dark. The only light source was the moon above.

This didn't bother Hunter. What would eventually bother him was Jeff's ever present crying.

_There, that'll stop him escaping... now to stop him from trying anything else._

Hunter grasped Jeff's wrist and yanked it away from the bleeding stub of Jeff's leg. Hunter placed it on the ground and held his forearm down with his knee. He then grabbed Jeff's other arm, buried under his torso, and clasped Jeff's hands together.

Jeff didn't know what was going on. _Is he tying me up?_

Instead of binding him like any normal person would, Hunter thought of a way to eliminate the use of his opponents' hands that was quicker than tying them up.

Hunter picked up the handgun that he placed on the ground earlier and unloaded the remainder of the gun's magazine into Jeff's hands. The large bullets essentially demolished Jeff's hands. Many of Jeff's digits had been blown off and crushed.

"AHHHHHHH!" Jeff's bloodcurdling scream must've echoed for at least a fifteen or twenty seconds, and heard at least a kilometer round.

"AH! AH! AH!" he screamed some more, more quietly this time though. His hands (or what was left of them) were shaking violently

After ten seconds of Hunter staring at him curiously, Jeff was able to say something more than just a "no" or a scream.

"Why… fuck… fuck… hands?"

"So you can't pick anything up," Hunter immediately responded.

"With… one… leg? Fucking… psycho…" Jeff panted.

Hunter disregarded Jeff's comments as he ran over to Phoebe. He was doing all this for her. He was sure she would've wanted it to happen. After all, when it came down to it, Jeffrey Simpson was a very arrogant, self-centred person. All he cared about was getting drunk on weekends and trying to pick up girls at parties. He was never very successful, but he liked to boast to his friends that he was.

In complete contrast to what he had just done with Jeff, Hunter tried to help Phoebe. She was still unconscious, but the bleeding had slowed down a lot. It seemed her blouse had acted as a barrier for more blood coming out. Hunter quickly searched through one of the duffel bags that was supplied and found what he was looking for. The first aid kit. _I thought they were lying when they said they packed this in._

Hunter was expecting a couple of Band-aids to be in the small first aid pack. But he found a much better assortment of equipment than Band-aids with cartoon pictures of The Wiggles on them. Next to a small bottle of antiseptic cream, Hunter grabbed a roll of bandages. Slowly and carefully, he treated Phoebe's wounds. He undid her blouse (_Jeff, you asshole, you better not be looking, or I'll dig your eyes out )_ and applied the bandages to both of Phoebe's wounds. He didn't realise, but he was crying. He was crying like a child with a scraped knee.

He couldn't do much else for Phoebe, so he turned his red eyes to the other thing that was sobbing like a child.

Hunter got up and ran over to Jeff, who had gone limp. Jeff just didn't care anymore. He was ready to say anything, because now, he just wanted to die now.

Hunter seized Jeff's shirt collar and dragged him over to the cliff. Jeff's body kicked up dust and uprooted grass as it abandoned any kind of movement whatsoever.

Before he knew it, Jeff's face was once again in the ground. He didn't move it. He didn't want to conform to Hunter's little game. He was angry. He knew he was going to die.

"Look," Hunter commanded. Jeff lay still, frowning at the earth.

Hunter became furious and crushed the back of Jeff's head with the sole of his leather shoe. Jeff groaned at the pain and moved his stump hand to feel the back of his head.

"Look!" Hunter roared as he turned Jeff's body over. He looked at Jeff's bucktoothed grin. _Grin at me?_

Hunter raised his fist and walloped Jeff's head into the earth. It cracked under the weight of the punch. Hunter then got on his knees and punched Jeff's face several times in a stabbing motion. On the fifth punch, Hunter and Jeff heard a loud crack. Jeff's now-broken nose and mouth were surging with blood. He had lost three teeth (including the two buckteeth that made him look like a stereotypical Chinaman) and his right cheekbone. Despite the pain, Jeff still smiled smugly as Hunter gave him a look that would even frighten people like Henry St. Claire.

"How much blood do you have in you?" Hunter asked sarcastically.

Hunter gripped Jeff's short, spiked-up hair and twisted it so he faced the peaceful-looking Phoebe, who was completely unaware of the violence that was going on right next to her.

"Why?" Hunter interrogated.

"Oh, she's dead," was all Jeff said.

"Why?" Hunter repeated.

"Why what?" Jeff brashly replied.

Hunter slammed Jeff's temple into the ground.

"WHY?" he slammed Jeff's head into the ground again. And with each syllable, he would do it again. "WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY?"

"She was a bitch!" Jeffrey finally spat. "Fuck, I don't know how you managed to tap that, she'd be so _critical_ of how you do it."

Hunter laughed. He had no clue how Jeff could be so rude at a time like this.

"Do you _have_ a death wish?" he chuckled.

"Fuck you," Jeff responded. "Fuck you, and fuck your girlfriend. I know I still would. Yeah."

Hunter's face turned red.

"Yeah, you wouldn't have done it, you're too scared," Jeff continued callously. "I reckon you couldn't because your balls are too small from injecting all that steroid shit up your ass. You probably don't even like chicks, you'd prefer to have Ben stick his dick up your ass, you faggot. Or Kineally."

Hunter raised his brow and chuckled derisively at that name. Mitchell Kineally. He had left SHAC not too long ago due to subtle, but harsh bullying by members of the rugby league team. He was always suspected of harbouring a crush on Hunter, which he always denied. However, it was certainly very obvious that Mitchell had a childlike obsession with Hunter, trying to copy his movements and the things he said. Hunter always brushed Mitchell off, regarding him as someone who'll get over his boy-crush.

"I'm sure Kineally would've loved it if you dumped that stuck-up bitch and took him on a picnic instead. You should've left Phoebe to me, I'd still fuck her, here and now, with you watching me–"

Hunter instantly picked Jeff up off the ground. He was actually trying to touch Phoebe. _How fucking dare he!_

Hunter's former rugby team-mate was now being dangled over the edge of the cliff, with him by the neck. Jeff's metallic collar felt cold on Hunter's fingers.

"Do it faggot," Jeff rasped through Hunter's tight one-handed grip. "Do it. You got no balls. No balls!"

Phoebe's eyes started to flutter open. She had no idea of how much time had passed, or what was going on. She saw her bloody blouse open, dried blood around white strips of bandages, something tan and bloodied in the distance on the ground, and her current boyfriend drop one of their best friends over the cliff of sector B-9. She could Jeff's final hair-raising scream as he fell at least forty metres to be impaled on a spire protruding from the ice-cold water.

Phoebe pieced the facts together. She was shot, bandaged, and knocked out. Her boyfriend killed Jeff as he laughed at him. Phoebe deduced that her boyfriend was innocent. That didn't stop her becoming a little scared of him, because after all, he just committed murder.

Hunter turned to see Phoebe's deep hazel eyes wide open.

"Phoebe! Are you okay? How are you feeling?"

In his mind, Hunter was wondering whether she saw anything that happened with him and Jeff. What would she think if she saw him chopping his foot off with a rusty tomahawk and practically annihilating his hands with a near-full magazine?

"Jeff..." Phoebe uttered.

For now, Phoebe didn't care that her boyfriend was a murderer. She was just happy to be with him.

"You don't need to worry about that. Can you stand?"

"I don't know," she softly replied.

"Come on. Let's do it. Lets jump. Jeff won't have taken your life then."

Hunter bent down and picked Phoebe up. She was so light.

"Here, you'll be fine."

Hunter walked over to the edge of the cliff and looked down. It was dark, but he could make out a dark sea and brown jagged rocks. He looked at Phoebe. He slowly put her down and stood her up. He was supporting her so her knees wouldn't buckle.

"Are you okay?" Hunter asked.

Frailly, Phoebe confirmed with a nod.

"Are you ready?"

Again, she replied yes.

Hunter looked to his right to where he dropped Jeff's body. He had no regrets.

"We'll do it on three. One… two…"

Hunter paused and quietly said, "Three."

Hunter closed his eyes and leaped forward. He was still supporting Phoebe, who made some effort to move off the cliff as well.

Hunter was content. He was about to die with his love, his girlfriend, Phoebe. Hunter was dancing in the air, while Phoebe was relatively still. They were both dropping to the bottom of the cliff into the black Tasman Sea.

Hunter felt strangely calm. Phoebe however, didn't. That's because about halfway down the drop, her heart stopped. Technically, her death was caused by Jeff Simpson, who had once asked her out, and was so crushed when she rejected him. They still remained good friends, and would always sit next to each other in Maths, along with people like Wyatt Barron and Georgia Rapley. They had fun in Maths, joking with the teacher, making each other laugh and playfully teasing each other. Jeff once said when Phoebe dropped her calculator, "Hey Miss, Pheebs dropped her brain!" and the whole class laughed while Phoebe hit Jeff on the shoulder.

Hunter and Phoebe didn't know it, but the real reason Jeff attacked them was the fact that Phoebe slipped a note to Hunter, and not Jeff. Jeff didn't think that his two great friends wanted to be with each other; together, alone. He was angry because he was going to be left alone.

Hunter and Phoebe hit the ocean below with a loud splash.

**KILLED**

**Boy #12 – Simpson, Jeff**

**Girl #****12 – Corland, Pheobe**

**Boy ****#18 – Hills, Hunter**

**36 people remaining**


	9. Hour 3: 39 students remaining

6

Joshua Quintrell (Male Student #6) had met up with his friends. Well, those who called him his friend, which was very few people. Throughout his entire school career, he had been a bully. Kindergarten, primary school, and now high school. He taunted, teased, pushed, shoved and bashed those who crossed him or those who were different. But Joshua was actually a very weak person. The only reasons he ever won fights was because his father had taught him boxing from age 5, he was a year older than any of the other kids in his grades and he only ever targeted weaker kids who wouldn't fight back.

Joshua's conduct had often gotten him into trouble, but never at home. Throughout his life, if Joshua's place at a school was ever threatened, his rich builder father who didn't pay tax would convince the school's principal and deputy-principal to keep him there with a hefty donation.

Although many times this didn't work. Since Year 5, Joshua had been transported to nine different schools in the Glen Harbour area and its surrounds, whether by expulsion or his dad pulling him out before he could be expelled. Some of them were as far as a hundred kilometres away in distance. Joshua's dad's bribery offer did work at SHAC though. He mercilessly beat a student into a coma and only received a 2-week at-home suspension for it in exchange for a five-thousand dollar "donation". Joshua simply saw it as a holiday. Joshua wasn't legally permitted to be on a building site, so the only option was to stay at home and do schoolwork the school had assigned for him. He wouldn't actually do it, though. And if he did, he'd do the bare minimum of one-sentence answers of simple questions like "why did you do it" and "how do think it made the other person feel". Those kinds of questions made Joshua angry. He thought they gave him these primary school questions as a way to "reflect" because he was dumb.

And dumb he was. When Joshua was in Year 5, when he was 9, his mother left the family for another man. Then Joshua really started to screw up in school. He got held back a year when he was in Year 6. Apparently, with all the hours that he spent at home skipping school, his incomplete work, and his numerous suspensions meant he couldn't move up a grade in that year. So he repeated. He barely made it past Year 6, only after a very lengthy discussion with his parents and his school principal at the time. After his second attempt at Year 6, Joshua transferred to another school, as to eliminate any predisposition that his school may have against him.

It didn't worry Joshua. He thought school was a massive joke. He was going to leave school at the end of Year 10, but he didn't have any plans. _Probably just rely on Dad, like I've always done._

_Stop it._

That thought snapped Joshua back into the world. He had killed one of his former victims, Paul Brown, and now, Joshua had absolutely no clue what to do. He had joined up with his friends, the bogan group. There was no leader, per se, but in terms of cruelty, Joshua was up there with Henry St. Claire (Male Student #17), the violent football player.

Absent from the group was Connor "Junkie" Felton (Male Student #2), the joke of the group. He had left the council building before any plans were made. His protector from serious harm, Zachary "Rodney" Enright (Male Student #15), was there with what he called his "friends".

Also with Joshua was Matthew Berwick (Male Student #12), the crude and flatulent Cold Chisel and AC/DC enthusiast. Matthew had always loved hard pub rock, even in the grimmest of times. These grimmest times included in The Program.

Sitting on a park bench, Matthew found himself singing one of his favourite songs. _You Shook Me All Night Long_. If there was any song that was good for swaying your upper body forwards and backwards at a fast rate, it was this song.

_She was a fast machine _

_She kept her motor clean _

_She was the best damn woman that I ever seen _

_She had the sightless eyes _

_Telling me no lies _

_Knockin' me out with those American thighs _

_Taking more than her share _

_Had me fighting for air _

_She told me to come but I was already there _

_'Cause the walls start shaking _

_The earth was quaking _

_My mind was aching _

_And we were making it and you - _

_Shook me all night long _

_Yeah you shook me all night long_

Henry was the first to get into the song, and then Zach, who genuinely loved the band to bits. Joshua however, for one of the first times in his life, showed initiative and common sense. He loved the song like the rest of his group, but they were being fucking loud.

"Oi, shut the fuck up! You don't know who's out 'ere!" he said in his squeaky voice.

"Those cunts won't fuckin' know what hit 'em," Henry said gleefully, still rocking back and forward, "not with that shotgun of yours!"

"Fucking oath mate!" Matt piped in.

"Blokes," Zach said with confidence, "I actually reckon we should get out of here. I mean, we're sitting here like we're pissed and screaming 80s music for any psycho to hear us. We need to find a place to settle."

There was a moment of silence before Matt stood up and said, "Righto, let's go."

In unison, the bogan group minus Connor Felton (Male Student #2), started walking towards suburbia.

Matt walked up alongside Joshua. "Do you reckon Junkie'll be okay?"

Junkie was Connor's nickname. It was kind-of pejorative in the chastising fashion in which it was coined, but it'd become commonplace to call him Junkie. Not that he was a junkie. But he was certainly an alcoholic.

"I fucking don't care about 'im," Joshua replied simply, "he's a dickhead."

* * *

Cole Holland (Male Student #13) lay in a bedroom of a house in H-5. He, like all of the students was horrified of everything happening. He was especially mortified when he saw Esther Reid being shot by that aggressive bitch Albion.

He had seen the body of Paul Brown, as did about a dozen people.

Cole had slept for one-and-a-half hours after he arrived in a 2-storey suburban home in a housing estate. He chose a house that was not accessible by road, but by a pathway. He did this so he could have time to think about what he was going to do, and so he could be away from the others, who, as Cole assumed, would choose the most attractive house in the town. What was he going to do? He was concerned for his safety, his biggest worry being travelling to another zone, in case H-5 became hazardous.

Cole had no idea of what to do. He knew he felt scared. He knew he wanted to go home. Although he had mostly grown out of it, there was that sudden need of routine. He thought he had grown out of it. The thing, the condition, the _disease_ that, in Cole's eyes, took away any chance of being normal.

Aspergers Syndrome. Cole was diagnosed with it when he was three and it was only very recently that he learnt a lot of fundamental social skills and unwritten rules. But it'd all come a bit late for Cole. He was able to change the opinion of his character with some people, but there were others who didn't want to change and try and learn to like him. Namely, the bogans.

His mother had always assured him that his Aspergers was barely noticeable. But he felt different. So he had spent a lot of his time, looking at self-help books that were related to social skills and Aspergers Syndrome. He tried, and he tried. But he couldn't seem to get it right. The only people that Cole truly felt comfortable with were his close friends, who were in the 'weird group'. Anyone else who Cole met was usually met with distrust and suspicion.

But what to do in The Program. He had no idea. There was suicide, but he could never come up with the nerve to do that.

A voice in his head laughed and called Cole a cunt. In a typical derelict accent. Cole frowned and stared at the ceiling.

Cole sat up on the bed when he heard a faint crash. It sounded like glass breaking. He immediately reached for his gun, which was on the left bedside table next to a very old-looking lamp.

The gun was an Ingram MAC-10, a submachine gun, which, to Cole, just meant it had rapid fire. He knew little-to-nothing about guns. He had no clue what a breech bolt was. He just knew that if you pulled the trigger of a loaded gun, it meant potential death for the people and animals around you.

But know Cole had this MAC-10 in his hands, which were shaking violently. _There could be people in the area. Dangerous people. People who could kill you._

_You idiot! You blithering fucktard! You're in The Program, in a fucking housing estate! They're densely populated in The Program too, you bloody idiot! You should've gone in to the bush. You can handle the cold. You're a cold-loving person! But you chose to go to suburbia like everyone else._

_It's okay, it's okay. I'll be fine, I'll be fine. I'll just go into the other room, look out the window and check on what's happening. Why? Because I need closure, that's why._

Cole slowly stood up and crept to the hallway. He heard the same crashing sound again, but it was fainter. He stopped for a moment and looked down a flight of carpeted stairs, before moving to the room that overlooked the pathway and peered out the window. He could see outside as there was plenty of moonlight.

Across the pathway, there was a house very similar to the one Cole was occupying. It had a near shattered window that faced the street.

Outside the window were four shadowy figures. Cole deduced that they were going to be staying in the house. The house across the pathway.

Who were they? It was too dark to see clearly and too far to hear conversation…

…Until one of them let out a loud laugh. It was a stupidly loud laugh, especially when there could be people around you. The laugh sounded if someone was mocking you and pointing at you. It was a two-syllable laugh:

"Ah-HEH!"

Cole felt like he had been punched in the stomach by a boxer. He recognised that annoying laugh.

It belonged to Matthew Berwick, the bogan who annoyed him so much.

Cole slumped to the floor with his back to the wall.

_Oh fuck. Him of all people! Oh-h-h-h-h, he's with his __bogan group too…_

_God, they'll kill me. I can't let that happen. And I don't want them winning and going out in to the world becoming welfare cheats, because they probably will. They'll probably become bludgers. I want to get out of here and be a vet in this dump of a country._

"Matt, shut yer face!" said a voice that sounded like Henry St. Claire. He wasn't doing a very good job of that, as the stage whisper carried itself to the ears of Cole quite easily. They seemed to be working at a phenomenal level.

Henry's loud response confirmed Cole's fears. He despised the bogans, like the Grinch despised the Whos of Whoville.

* * *

_Cole Holland had grown bored of the day. His year were participating in an event called Business Week, where the grade was divided into groups and given the task of running a fake company. The Australian Government instigated the event to attract today's "disgustingly vile" youth into a career of business. The week was a chance to flex everybody's capitalist muscle, by making pretend decisions that would be converted into a pretend stock price. Each group would set out to win the event, which was done by, among other things, having the highest stock price at the end of the event._

_The day had 15 minutes left, and after finishing his group's trade display, where the group's fake product would be showcased, he was eventually pushed to the limit by two things. One was Katherine Spall, who had taken the position of the fake company's CEO. She was being incredibly pedantic about the entire event, and every time you looked at her she seemed stressed._

_But the other factor, which mostly contributed to Cole's departure of the room was the presence of Joshua Quintrell. He had decided to turn up to the event just this one day._

_Cole dreaded the fact that Joshua was even alive, let alone in the group. He wondered how he was to survive the week without going insane from Joshua's high-pitched uncultured voice and his severe lack of common sense. Luckily he hadn't turned up to school any of the days of the week._

_Allison Silverman, who was also in the group, had decided to bring in balloons to school, as it was the second last day of the week's event. Joshua had gotten bored from staring at the wall and thought to throw a balloon filled with water at Cole without provocation. They weren't regular water balloons, they were simply balloons, like you would find at a party or an event. And they could hold a lot of water without breaking. This started Cole's complicated revenge process, which simply entailed throwing several balloons back at him._

_But Cole, having the coordination of a Parkinson's disease sufferer, missed each water balloon without even scraping the flannelette shirt that Joshua had worn to the event. _

_You were supposed to wear business clothes to Business Week, stupid, Cole thought to himself._

_Cole stormed off as Joshua and his friends laughed at him._

_"It's 'cuz you've got 'asparagus' disease!' Joshua called out as Cole walked away ashamedly._

_Instead of deciding to exact revenge a second time on Joshua, Cole sat down at a table in the outdoors outside a building full of classrooms, all accessible from outside. At the table were Jillian Crean, and the French foreign exchange student that she was hitting on, Gabriel._

_Cole held a water balloon that he filled up after Joshua foiled his flawed plan._

_"How's your ad going, Jill?" Cole opened._

_"It's great! How's yours?" Jillian responded._

_"Oh, it's pretty good."_

_"Cool!"_

_"Hey Gabriel," said Cole, "tu veux cette bombe d'eau?"_

_"Yeah, thanks," Gabriel chuckled._

_Cole was always trying to hone up on his French skills. He was starting to become fluent in the language. But there was still a long way to go for him._

Still don't understand how to use en and y properly.

_Cole handed the bomb to Gabriel, and seeing the look in his eyes, he stood up, along with Gabriel, __while Jillian stayed seated._

_"Gabriel, don't," Jillian said cautiously._

_Two big smiles emerged over the faces of Cole and Gabriel._

_"Don't!" Jillian screamed._

_But Gabriel did it anyway. He threw the water balloon on the table, and the liquid burst out of the overfilled latex bladder and all over Jillian's dress._

_Gabriel and Cole were laughing loudly. This was the cut-off point of Cole's memories of that afternoon until 3:15 p.m._

_Cole saw Joshua Quintrell and Henry St. Claire coming from around the corner of the building, from where the classroom with their trade display was. Cole was expecting to see a water balloon in Joshua's hands, but he instead saw a full water bottle._

_Cole frowned. He was expecting a full drenching from Joshua's water bottle, but got something entirely different. Joshua threw the water bottle, in its full, closed state, directly at Cole's face._

_Cole was taken aback. _

That was completely random. What a dick!

"_Hey, what the fuck was that for you dipshit?" Cole yelled at Joshua, who stood there with __that dumb grin spread wide across his face._

"_I got over the stupid water fight, dickhead!" continued Cole. "Go fuck yourself, you bogan inbred cunt!"_

_Cole violently pushed Joshua. He hit the wall of the outside of a room that housed another Business Week group._

_Joshua snapped. He lunged at Cole, punching him in the cheek. Cole fought back and countered his second blow, with a hit to the face and to the neck. This routine lasted for approximately seven seconds until Joshua concentrated all his energy into his arm, and launched a massive king hit against the left side of Cole's face._

_The resulting blow had Cole in dizziness. Joshua was relentless, and he kept punching, and punching, and punching Cole in the face, repeatedly._

_Alyssa Greene and Allison Silverman had come out of their respective rooms and screamed at Joshua to stop. Alyssa grabbed Joshua's arm in order to try and cease the fighting. Joshua shook Alyssa off with one flick of his arm and with that same arm, knocked one last hit into Cole._

_Cole stood and swirled for a moment. He then fell to the side and his head hit the concrete with a thump._

_Joshua was panting. Cole wasn't. People were standing around the two boys in a semi-circle._

_A teacher, who was supervising one of the Business Week groups, immediately came out and grabbed Joshua by the shoulder and hauled him away._

_

* * *

_

_Somehow he had gotten here. Cole was in the front office, dazed and confused. He mumbled thoughts to himself. Two paramedics stood over Cole, as he slowly woke up with a bloody taste in his mouth._

_My grandma… she's in Broome, you can't reach her, he mindlessly muttered to himself._

_Cole didn't think to ask the paramedics as to what happened. He simply conformed to them when they asked him to slowly stand up and move out the door and into an ambulance, which was waiting for him in the staff car park._

_The ambulance rode at a steady pace along the road, without lights. Cole's concussion was nothing life-threatening. Cole still hadn't put the pieces together yet. To him, the pieces didn't fit into the jigsaw, as many sections were missing. It was all a blur to him, what had happened. Actually, it was more of a complete darkness._

_Cole noticed he had his mobile phone in his pocket. Somehow, it hadn't fallen out in the fight. Cole turned the phone on and scrolled down his contacts list. Jason. Jason Swayze. He probably knew what had happened._

_Cole held the phone to his ear. It started to ring. On the other end, a voice formed._

_"Hello?"_

_"Jason? Hey, it's Cole."_

_"Shit man, where are you? Are you okay? "_

_"I'm in an ambulance and I'm hurting in my face and head. What the hell happened?"_

_"You got into a fight with Joshua. It was pretty brutal."_

_"Really?" Cole was surprised. He could remember the annoyance he had felt with Joshua on the day, but he never thought this would happen._

_"Yeah, apparently he threw a water bottle at your face and you pushed him and he just laid into you."_

_"I got knocked out by Joshua,." Cole monotonously confirmed. "Joshua Quintrell. Inbred hick from Bogantown."_

_"Yeah."_

_Cole sighed. The thought of being beaten by Joshua Quintrell in a fistfight was extremely pressing and frankly, he thought this would be an incredible blow to what everyone thought of him._

_So many of them already don't like me. Now they'll laugh at me too._

_"OK, thanks man, I'll see you later."_

_Cole hung up the phone and draped his hands over his face._

_"Fucking hell!"_

* * *

To Cole's sheer delight, the incident worked in his favour. He got sympathy and turned many people against Joshua. This was a great victory in itself.

The incident led to a certain amount of animosity between Cole and the whole group. The one who Cole hated the most was Joshua Quintrell, the tall, stupid and squeaky dickhead. The boy who once asked a science teacher whether gay men had testicles. The boy who once asked the school's library assistant whether she was married to the librarian, on the basis that she apparently looked like him.

_Marrying people who look remarkably similar to you must be a custom from where you're from, Joshua._

Cole stared at his MAC-10 and then peeked out the window again. They had gone inside the house, through the smashed window.

Bloody idiots, they should've gone 'round the back and smashed a window there. From the front, _everybody_ can see that you smashed the window.

Cole sat in the same position for twenty minutes before he finally got up and started walking out of the room. He grabbed his duffel bag from the master bedroom and started walking downstairs and out the back door, which, luckily, had been unlocked.

Cole climbed over the back fences of the properties until he was in the one opposite the house occupied by Joshua and his friends.

He walked to the side gate and watched the smashed window of the occupied house. There was no movement.

OK Cole, it's now or never.

He jumped over the fence, crossed the pathway and arrived on the front yard of the house with the smashed window. He stared into the room, which was set up like a living room.

At least they didn't switch the lights on, they're not _that_ stupid.

Suddenly, someone came into Cole's view. He was tall, and had hair that was spiked up at the front. The moonlight reflected off him. It was Henry St. Claire. Henry was a very violent person, and he frequently tried to pick fights with others by saying, "Run at me! Run at me, cunt!"

When he said that, people usually backed down.

Henry always played rugby league at lunchtime, be it rather violently. He'd rip shirts and try and start fights when that person would yell at him for ripping his shirt.

"Shit!" Henry exclaimed. "You cunt!"

Immediately Cole let out a burst of fire. He held the gun with two hands, as he heard these guns sprayed bullets wildly. It still did, even though he held a firm grip.

Holes appeared all over Henry's body, from his abdomen up to his neck.

Cole's stomach turned violently. He felt like he was going to faint and vomit, as if he had been punched in the gut by Kostya Tsuzu.

2 seconds of fire later, Cole let go of the trigger in shock. He had just killed someone. There was no going back know.

"Henry!" a voice called. The light in the living room switched on.

"Oh fuck! Henry's dead! Shot!"

Another voice yelled, "Matt! Get Henry's gun, I'll get me shottie!"

It would've been Joshua's. He had a deep, but squeaky voice. The other voice sounded like Matthew Berwick.

Cole had stepped back two steps, which was appropriate, as Matt popped up holding a Beretta 92. He shot at Cole, who ran to the left and started shooting back.

Matt's third shot clipped Cole on his left arm, and Cole's twentieth and twenty-first bullets' hit Matt, one in the bicep, the other in the shoulder, and both on his right arm.

They both yelled, "Arrgh!"

Although the pain was excruciating, for Cole, it was only a flesh wound. He sucked air through his teeth, and exhaled loudly.

Matt had disappeared from Cole's sight.

The front door suddenly swung open and there stood Joshua Quintrell with a shotgun. He pointed it at Cole, who ran around the side of the house and rushed into the backyard. Joshua pulled the trigger and narrowly missed him, hitting the fence instead.

Cole hid around the corner of the house. If he peered, out of hit, his face could be hit. At that instant, the sombre section of _Bohemian Rhapsody _by Queen popped into his head.

_Mama, just killed a man _

_Put a gun against his head _

_Pulled my trigger, now he's dead _

_Mama, life has just begun _

_But now I've gone and thrown it all away_

"Holland!" yelled Joshua, "Show yerself! Get the fuck out here!

"Matt! Where the fuck is Zach?

"You faggot, I'll kill you!"

Cole gripped his SMG and ran along the side of the house, to the other end of the house. He peeked around the corner, and saw Matt standing on the back veranda, seething through his teeth. Henry's Beretta was in his right hand, and his left hand was rubbing his wounds.

Cole gripped the MAC-10 and then stood still.

Matt turned his head towards Cole. He started to raise his Beretta, but Cole sidestepped to the left and let out another burst of fire that hit Matt all over, until there was no more ammunition left in the magazine.

Matt stood and stared blankly at Cole. He fell to his knees, and then fell face-forward, just like in the movies. His body fell off the low veranda, and his face was implanted in the dewy grass. Cole could see the exiting wounds of the Matt's numerous bullet holes.

Cole bent down and picked up Henry's Beretta, and stared at the back of his head.

Cole heard footsteps approaching at a rapid rate. He turned around and pointed his gun at the north-west corner of the house, where he had just emerged from. He stepped back, up onto the veranda, when Joshua came out from the corner, pointing his Remington at Cole.

Cole shut his eyes and fired the Beretta. POW. Its sound echoed throughout the night.

He opened his eyes and gazed at Joshua. There was one gunshot wound, on his right cheek, just below his eye. Joshua's eyes were wide open. His head swayed a bit, and his body fell to the side, and his head hit the wall of the house.

Cole gulped. He had killed three people. _Three_ people.

_Zach. Zachary Enright. Is he here? I don't want to kill him. He's a nice person. He's great. Funny __kid, he is._

Zachary Enright was the only person in the whole bogan group who got along with Cole. He wasn't loud and ridiculously stupid like the rest of his group.

Cole stood in the same position staring at Joshua's corpse for a full minute, before going through the back door.

Zach.

Cole walked into the kitchen, and saw five green bags on the table. He picked one and opened it. He searched through it and found three magazines that looked like it would fit the Beretta. He picked up the magazines and stuffed it in his own green bag

Cole turned around, and walked into the lounge room. On the lounge, there was a crossbow with numerous arrows lying beside it, and a mace. He turned left and stepped into the living room.

There he saw the bullet-riddled body of Henry, who had an expression on his face that couldn't be deciphered as anger or shock. He was below the shattered window which the four people had used climbing in to the house

Cole averted his eyes and breathed deeply. He called out.

"Zach?"

"Zach…?"

A sound erupted. It sounded like a sneeze. It came from upstairs. It was unmistakably Zach's. The humorous noise that sounded like a goose sneezing.

Cole moved into another room and slowly ascended the carpeted staircase, trying to make as little noise as possible. On the way up, his knees buckled from fear and his chin hit the floor. He quickly and quietly got up and shuffled into a room that had an open door.

Cole rummaged through his green bag for a torch. He flicked it on and shone it around the room.

"Zach?"

Cole scanned the room. There was a queen-size bed, a desk with a computer, an open sliding door that seemed to lead into an en suite, and another door that was closed. Cole readied the Beretta and opened the door. It was a walk-in robe.

"Zach?"

He took two steps forward and pointed his torch in front of him. There was movement in there.

"Zach, it's me, Cole. I won't hurt you!"

Four seconds later, a voice answered back. It was crackly, scared.

"Leave me, please. I didn't do anything! I don't even have any weapons. Look!"

Out from around the corner flew a small pair of knuckledusters.

"See? Just go!"

"Zach… I… I'm so sorry I killed your friends; I saw them and, I was paranoid! I thought they would kill me. I'm sorry…"

A long silence was eminent before Cole spoke again.

"Uh… Where's Connor?"

A few moments later, Zachary's voice broke the silence, and it broke in pitch. "I don't know; he left before we made a meeting place. Back in that council building."

"Oh. OK then. Uh… I think I'm going to go now. I'm taking Matt's gun. I'll leave Joshua's shotgun on the table. You'll have that plus a crossbow."

"Matt didn't have a gun. He had a mace. A bloody mace! Henry had the gun."

"Oh, OK."

"I'm so sorry," Cole's voice broke.

Cole started to walk backwards, his pistol and MAC-10 pointed towards the floor. He trusted Zach that he wouldn't leap from the round the corner of the walk-in robe and shoot him.

Cole stood at the door of the bedroom, but could still see inside the walk-in robe.

"Uh, Zach?"

"What."

"If you survive this game…"

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm… I'm sorry I killed your – friends."

At that instant Cole sprinted out the door and down the stairs. He opened the door and ran out of the house and onto the front yard, where he first pulled the trigger of the MAC-10.

He jogged to the pathway, turned around and looked up at the second storey, to make sure Zach wasn't going to do something unexpected. Then he started to sprint down the walkway, which would eventually lead to a real street.

It was the fastest Cole had ever run before. All this time he felt as if he had been winded by a kick boxer.

**KILLED**

**Boy ****#17 – St. Claire, Henry**

**Boy ****#11 – Berwick, Matthew **

**Boy #6 – Quintrell, Joshua**

**36 students remaining**


	10. Hour 4: 36 students remaining

While the students at St. Helier were what some would call a close-knit community (there were only forty-four people in the tenth grade, and that number would most likely have dropped after the school year ended), there, like all schools, seemed to break itself up into the cliques and groups that you found at all schools. The athletes, the nerds, the weirdos, the list of potential stereotypes went on. One group tried to not make themselves like that. They wouldn't be labelled as basket cases, athletes, princesses, nerds or criminals.

Three girls. Wendy Olsen (Female Student #7), Hayley Hernandez (Female Student #9) and Heidi Chester (Female Student #19) had all been best friends for as long as they could remember. Preschool, primary school and now high school. The only time in their lives were one was away from the other for an extended period of time was when Hayley briefly moved back to Spain for the year. Hayley found that fascist Spain was no better than Australia (in fact, it was worse), and she didn't want to make new friends when she was perfectly happy with her old ones, and when that didn't require her to learn a whole new language.

Right now, in Hour 5 of the 11th Annual Program of Australia, these three friends, the group without a label were staying in a two-year old display home in Dardanup's suburban area.

It was a fairly fancy house, what Wendy would call a McMansion, a large house with no eaves which relies solely on ducted air-conditioning to keep it at a moderate 23 degrees Celsius.

Wendy didn't let the ugly and un-environmental design of the house deter her from sleeping in it. Beggars couldn't be choosers in a Battle Royale. Wendy slept in a bedroom that was adjacent to a living room where Hayley and Heidi kept guard. They would take turns and sleep for a few hours each and then they would make tea if the house's gas still worked and they could find some matches.

Wendy didn't exactly slept in peace. She kept jolting awake at the slightest sudden noise, only to be soothed back to sleep by the voices of Heidi and Hayley in the next room. She had absolute faith in her two best friends. They wouldn't let anything bad happen to her while she slept. And then thoughts of others harming Wendy and her friends accompanied by any sound would wake her. She knew there were people playing the game. A little less an hour ago she had heard gunfire that came from not too far away. She counted at least three different types of gunfire.

Her routine of jolting awake and going back to sleep every 10 minutes, was definitely not helping Wendy's tiredness. In fact, it was making it worse. The constant worry of everything around her was making her increasingly more anxious.

Wendy finally decided to get up from the comfortable double bed in the bedroom with cream walls. She groggily stumbled to the living room and sat down on a lounge where Heidi was sitting and Hayley was facing.

"Hey," Heidi said, "did you have a good sleep?"

"Ugh," Wendy gave an exasperated sigh, "no. Find any matches for the stove?

"No, sorry. I've looked in every possible place."

"I'm tired!" Wendy whined loudly to the amusement of the others.

"Well then," Hayley said, "go to sleep."

"Ugh, I can't. I'm not able to. Do you want to sleep now?" she looked at Heidi, as it was her turn for some rest.

"Nah, not just yet. Me and Hayley –"

"Hayley and _I_," Hayley corrected jokingly.

"Hayley and _I_," Heidi sarcastically emphasised, "were just talking about what we're going to do in this."

"Oh," Wendy replied. "What are we gonna to do?"

"We think we'll just hide out," Hayley said. "I mean, I couldn't kill anyone. Could you?"

"No," Heidi and Wendy responded in unison. Always some of the friendliest people in Year 10, the trio of friends despised disharmony of any kind, whether it was bullying, violence or arrogance.

"We can beat this," Hayley said. "We're just going to do nothing. If we all did nothing at all, then their plans of studying us for "research" would be completely ruined. We're going to be pacifists and we're not going to give in to this country's fascist ways. If it means we die, then so be it. But it'll be together."

After Hayley's small speech, an awkward silence filled the living room. Until Wendy spoke up.

"Yeah, okay," Wendy said fervently. "Down with the fascists, huh?"

"Yeah!" Hayley said. There was one person who hadn't cast their vote. "Heidi?"

After several moments of thinking Heidi resignedly said, "Okay. I'm with you. If we're going to die, we'll die on our terms, not theirs."

"Well that's all well and good," Wendy began, "but will you – pinkie swear by it?"

Heidi and Hayley both laughed at this mock question. But they did it anyway. The three girls were held together by their friendship, and they vowed to not let it be shaken by the Program.

How naïve this pact would turn out to be.

* * *

Allison Silverman (Female Student #11) was angry. Her stress had been concentrated not into panic or sadness, but anger. Allison was often moody. But never like this. She was so angry she felt as if she could burn down the council building and laugh as that fat bitch Albion and her soldiers. Then she would have fucked their skulls them with a strap on. However, she had no idea where she would get a strap on penis. A quaint little town like Dardanup contained families with young children and retiree couples, not seedy sex shops and red lamps.

Allison had seen the girl she grew up with, Esther Reid, shot before her very eyes. She couldn't stand Esther herself, but they shared memories together. Before their friendship deteriorated.

It wasn't the fact that supposedly, or at least according to their parents, they were best friends, that aggravated Allison. It was the fact that she felt on some level responsible for Esther's wellbeing, even though they disliked each other. If Esther had been lost somewhere in the streets while drunk, it would've been Allison's phone number she remembered, not the street that she lived in.

Allison's hypothetical of burning down the council building would be impossible. Even she knew it. She could be violent, but she definitely didn't have the smarts to deactivate the collars so one could get close to the council building.

Luckily for her, Allison had someone who would undoubtedly try and stop her from making stupid decisions. Erika Willai (Female Student #17) stood by the curtains of the small house they had settled. Always a sensible thinker, Erika would always consider the rationality and risks of things before she would get involved. Parties? Only if she knew the bogans in her year weren't going. Drugs? Never on her life. Sex? Not for a while now. Especially not now.

The fact that Erika was a virgin (and proud of it, unlike some people) and had wanted to commit herself to it until she was in a really long relationship with someone who she would seriously consider marrying could've been an impairing factor for her choice of career. Relationships counsellor. At least, that's what she wanted to be back in the world where the Program wasn't a concern. How could she advise couples who were having crappy sex lives on what to do if she had never actually experienced it?

But that aside, she did have a knack for advice. She had helped various relationships that she knew of in SHAC, and for her friends outside of school. Ben and Ewan. Phoebe and Hunter. Janice and Sarah. Clyde and Hannah. Gregg and Alyssa. Gregg and Holly. Gregg and Kate.

_Wow, Gregg sure has dated a lot of the girls in the year. Seems they all ended in shit._

Erika knew that at one point in the Program, she would have to try and use her common sense to stop Allison from doing something stupid. She hadn't known Allison that well back at school, them being mutual acquaintances, but she did know that Allison had had a history of acting impulsively without thought. Screaming at the deputy principal at her old school that he was a paedophile (which actually later turned out to be true) had gotten her expelled according to Esther Reid. But Erika certainly didn't trust her word. So many times Esther had tried to make up stories that would rival the level of bullshit that that feral chick from Kings Cross in Sydney who made up a false account of a nightclub shooting to TV cameras.

The sound of Allison scraping a chair along the timber floors of the house shocked Erika back into reality.

"Hey," Erika started, "how you feeling?"

"Shit," Allison immediately snapped back. "How do you think I feel?"

Erika simply sighed at her response.

"Sorry. Do you want anything to drink? The drinks in the fridge might not have gone off just yet."

"Fine." Allison grumbled.

Erika walked from the dining room into the kitchen of the house. The fridge was old and small, with a big Jack Daniels sticker emblazoned on the front of it.

And lo and behold, Erika didn't find any soda or juice in the fridge like she had wanted, but bottles and bottles of alcohol. Beer, whiskey, rum, vodka, bourbon and some bottles she didn't recognize.

Sighing, she grabbed the last two bottles of beer from a torn six-pack. She walked back into the dining and slowly handed one of the bottles to Allison. The expression on her face quickly contorted into a quick smile. But her tone of voice could still be described as angry.

Allison opened the bottle and downed the beer as if she was in a race. Erika watched with open eyes at the speed of her drinking. Within six seconds, the contents of the longneck had disappeared.

"Whoa," Erika said.

"Thanks," Allison said, exhaling to cool her oesophagus, "it takes the edge off. You gonna have that?"

She gestured towards the other beer bottle that Erika limply held in her hand. Erika didn't want Allison to get completely trashed, especially in a game of strategy, skill, life and death. For Allison's sake and not her own, Erika refused to give her the bottle. Instead, she had her first alcoholic drink in over a year. Sure, she didn't drink it as fast Allison did, but she did it.

When it was gone, Erika gently put the bottle on the dining table and chuckled.

"You're right, it does take the edge off."

Allison and Erika laughed at this remark. Amazingly, after just one beer, Allison was already in a better mood.

"Cheers," she said as she raised her empty bottle.

"Cheers," Erika replied. She rose her bottle and clinked it with Allison's.

For just a few minutes, a sense of optimism washed over Erika. It might've been the alcohol, but Erika, for the first time since she stepped out of the council building into the town, felt opportunistic about the outcome of the Program.


End file.
